


All that comes after

by clouisewise



Category: Mass Effect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:04:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clouisewise/pseuds/clouisewise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You didn't think that was the end, did you? Sure, the reapers are gone. But there has to be more to dying for the entire galaxy than just... nothing. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (I may or may not continue this, I haven't decided yet. Either way, enjoy!)

When you wake up, the first thing you notice is a severe lack of pain - the last thing you remember is _pain_ , an abhorrent amount, down to the very fiber of your being, so the lack thereof is welcomed. But concerning. Too afraid to open your eyes, afraid of what this whole 'afterlife' is really going to be (you hope Kaiden and Mordin are there, Thane too, but your ears feel full of cotton and you can't seem to get your mouth to work, so you lay in the familiar darkness without calling out to them), you try to take stock of what you know for certain:

The reapers are gone. So are the Mass Relays, The Citadel, the geth.

And Legion. And EDI. You hope to see them here too. (Do machines go to an afterlife?, you ponder. Hopefully they do, at least _these_ two machines do - they were innocents in this, fighting to the very end to rid the universe of this threat only to succumb to the same twisted game that ended up being the only way to do so. You feel guilty, which is the first feeling you have in the afterlife. You decide you don't want to, not right now, and push it down for later.)

(You wonder, for a second, if Anderson made it too. You quickly decide that he has to have gone to somewhere better than where you ended up; he was a hero, he was your idol and from day one he believed in you. He is what legends are really made of - yeah, you stopped the reapers. And the Collectors. Saren. Various other threats ranging from mild to 'the fate of the galaxy is resting on your shoulders'. But without David Anderson you would have been just another grunt, without so much as an opportunity to prove yourself that way. Everything you are and everything you had, you owe to him.)

Slowly, as you lay there wondering who and what you'll meet here (you hope, pray, that you ended up in a place a million kilometers away from the likes of Kai Lang and The Illusive Man - you then wonder if it is possible to kill someone again in the afterlife, and decide that an eternity of putting your gun to either of their heads over and over definitely isn't the worst way this place could turn out), a tingling starts. It's low, in your toes you think, so you wiggle them slowly without opening your eyes. The tingling intensifies, spreads like wildfire up your legs, over your hips, your chest, down your arms, then over your face. You feel it everywhere, like a pack of swarmers is flying around just under your skin, but before you can really take stock of it the tingling turns to discomfort. And then burning, red fire all over you with no indication (not that you've opened your eyes, of course) of an _actual_ fire. And then pain, white hot in contrast to the burning just a second ago - it's everywhere, blinding, intense, crushing you yet tearing you apart at the same time. A scream is ripped from your throat before you know what's happening, and even through the cotton in your ears you hear it.

As soon as the pain was there, it's gone. Breathing heavily, you welcome the numbness that was at first so terrifying. It washes over you, systematically easing the pain in the same way it came to you. (You note that, next time this happens, you are _not_ going to wiggle your toes.)

'Shepard', you say to yourself in your best Commander voice, the last inkling of pain in your throat from the scream dissipating, 'you need to open your eyes. You need to know where you are. You need to know what happened - people imagine this moment their entire lives.'

'Not me', you retort. You don't even bother to question why on earth you're allowing your first conversation in all of this to be with yourself. 'I've been too busy fighting for the past 5 years to even _consider_ what happens next.'

'Well you're here now. You might as well just do it.'

You have your tongue wrapped around a snide reply, still clinging to the notion that this darkness is safety and you've been in enough danger for one lifetime - for two, even. But you are pulled from your thoughts by a sensation, cool in contrast to the burning earlier, somewhere near what you think is your wrist (Do I even have a body here?, you think, remembering all the beliefs that peg you as some floating intangible spirit or something of the sort when you die - for comfort's sake, for being able to hug all those people you hope to meet here's sake, you hope you still have your body). It feels familiar, comforting, and you feel the corner of your mouth twitch in a weak attempt to smile at the first pleasant feeling since you woke up.

'Now or never.'

Slowly (not slowly by choice though - it turns out to be much more difficult than you imagined it to be, your eyelids feeling like 50 pound weights) you open your eyes. Everything is hazy, too hazy to make out, but you notice a lot of white. Which you think is cliche, far too cliche to accept as fact, so you painfully blink your eyes a few more times. The image clears, slowly, faint shades of blues and purples become visible. There's movement, blurs of color moving around you excitedly. And then things have shapes, shapes you recognize but can't seem to name, not just yet. By the time your vision has cleared (you still can't hear a thing, mind you), the place you are is not at all what you were expecting to find after you died. No old friends, no big greeting party, not even a big man with a billowy white beard.

Nope. It turns out that the afterlife actually just looks a lot like a hospital room.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing you recognize, and are able to put a name to, is the lamp besides your hospital bed. It's simple, beige with a white shade, there's a small paint chip towards the base of it, and it's off – you notice that the window (the second thing your mind is able to put a name to) is open, and sunlight (the third) is streaming into the room. People are moving around you in a frenzy, doctors and nurses are walking up to you and shining lights in your eyes and asking you a million questions, but all you can seem to focus on is that damn lamp. Somewhere, deep in the back of your mind, you remember a conversation with... someone... someone loving. Whoever this person is, they make you smile and your heart skip a beat. Those feelings are all you have of them, that and the color blue. You remember talking to this person about how ducklings often imprint on the first thing they see with certainty once they are hatched.

Great, you think to yourself. Commander Shepard, Hero of the Citadel, savior of the universe from the likes of Saren, The Collectors, the Reapers, and you have imprinted onto a cheap poorly painted lamp. Perfect.

Staring at the lamp, you notice the cotton in your ears staring to dissipate just as your eyesight had returned to you. Slowly, the sounds of the room start to fill them and suddenly everything is too loud. It's making your head hurt, and after the blinding pain from earlier, you are not quite ready for any sort of pain just yet. Reluctantly, you pull your eyes away from your new best friend and turn to the woman in your face, trying to catch your attention – she's older, emerald green eyes and a bob of silver hair, and she's smiling at you like you're the absolute best thing she's ever seen. Something prompts you to smile back, and as you do so you recognize a certain familiarity to her.

“Nice to see you, Commander.”

Her accent is soothing, regal, goes down like cool brandy, and it makes you smile a little broader. It hurts to smile, you realize, but that doesn't stop you. You open your mouth to speak, to say hello, who are you, where am I, what happened? (And to yell at everyone bustling around the room like they've been in captivity their entire lives until this point, to tell them to please stop, to slow down, to shut up.) Nothing happens when you open it, however, and you realize somehow the persistent (and no longer terrifying, at all) numbness has somehow let the tube down your throat go unnoticed. You offer the kind doctor with the loving eyes a worried look, to which she simply nods.

“Daniel”, she says, and a young man you assume is Daniel walks up to her. He seems familiar as well, vaguely, but there's not enough emotion behind the recognition to lead you to think any further on it. A friend of a friend, you decide, and let it go. “I want you to help me get this tube out. Keep the sedatives on standby.”

Without a word, Daniel goes around to the opposite side of you and offers you an apologetic smile before placing a hand firmly on either of your shoulders. The woman, with even more apology on her face, wraps dainty fingers around the tube just beyond your lips.

“Take as deep of a breath as you can, Commander, then cough.”

Without much else to do (though you are starting to wish you could turn your head just one more time at look at that stupid lamp – if this somehow kills you, you'd like to see it one more time), you do exactly as she instructed. As you cough, shallow and pathetic in direct relation to the shaky breath you took, she pulls the tube out of your throat with as much care as you're sure she can muster. You feel the abrasive plastic scrape all the way up, burning the way your throat had just mere moments (Was it moments? Was that a dream?) before, but stifle the scream. Instead you let a single tear slide, and happily accept the straw being offered up next to your mouth in the tube's place. It hurts to swallow, at first, but the water is cooling and comforting and everything you thought death would really be like, so you take another large mouthful. Daniel returns the cup to the table next to your bed, right next to your lamp, and you smile fondly at it before following Daniel with your eyes as he rounds your bed to talk to the doctor.

“Do you need anything else, Dr. Chakwas?”

Chakwas, you think, and memories and sensation wash over you in an instant. Karin. Karin Chakwas. The Alliance doctor. You remember meeting her on the SSV Normandy before hitting Eden Prime, you remember drinking expensive alcohol with her in the Med Bay on the SR2, catching her as she fell from her pod on the Collector ship. 'You are all my children' reverberates around in your head, her accent clear as day. Suddenly the way she was looking at you makes perfect sense. 

She thanks Daniel and, to your relief, clears the room of the what seems to be dozens of staff members milling about. The last doctor places a chart in her hand before leaving, which she is carefully regarding as she drags a chair to your side and all but collapses into it. When you look up at her this time, her emerald eyes are filled with tears. But she's smiling. You try to lift a hand up, to touch her, to somehow convey to her that you're okay, this will all be okay, but find it impossible to do so. Karin sees your strained attempt at movement and instead moves her own hand to cover yours. It's dulled, far away feeling at best, but you still appreciate the sentiment.

“We thought you'd never wake up, Commander.”

She sounds tired, you think. And, upon further inspection, looks it as well. There are so many questions playing at the tip of your tongue that it takes you a moment to even decide where to start. Basics, you settle on.

“I'm alive?”

Your voice comes out strained, cracking, foreign even to your own ears. Karin laughs through her tears, hangs her head and shakes it.

“You're alive”, she confirms before giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. You feel it, just barely through the sedatives and painkillers you are sure are coursing through your body, but for some reason it brings everything around full circle. You're alive. And you feel. Here in front of you is a woman that has been by your side and cared for you as if you were her own child from the very beginning, squeezing your hand, and reassuring you that yes, Commander, yes – you are alive. You don't realize you're crying with her until your tears reach your mouth, the saltiness surprising you at first.

“How long?”, you croak, straining your neck to look past her to the window. It's sunny; there are trees green the way that only summer can make them and you even spot a bluejay fly past. Is this Earth? It looks so... peaceful. How long were you gone this time? Are another 2 years of your life gone? “How long has it been?”

Karin closes her eyes for a moment as if trying to remember, and you hold your breath. Has it been longer than 2 years? You think, 'But Dr. Chakwas doesn't look a day older', and then stop yourself when you realize that you don't remember what she looked like the last time you saw her anyways. And this does nothing but panic you further.

What feels like years pass before she smiles at you and chokes out, “Just under a year, Commander.”

A year? Not as long as you had been gone when under the Illusive Man's special reconstruction, you admit, but still a dizzying amount of time. You gulp, ignore the burn in your throat, and look down at yourself for the first time since waking up (You were afraid to, at first, afraid of the extent of the damage, but now that you know for certain you are alive, you decide to not follow in the footsteps of the Council members you grew to regret saving – ignoring a problem doesn't make it go away, after all) – there isn't much to see, honestly. Save for your right hand, the one covered protectively by Karin's own, you are a mess of casts and bandages, so many tubes and IVs that you can't keep track of where one ends and the next begins; somewhere deep down, you remember how badly you wanted to pull your fallen comrades close to you when you thought for certain you were dead, and are just thankful to have a body at all. Broken bits and all.

“We had almost given up hope”, she continues. “They wanted to pull the plug weeks ago, months even, but we wouldn't let them. We knew you would pull through.”

When she says 'we', a tirade of images of friendly faces floods your mind and, though you can't put names or specific memories to any of them just yet, you smile. You smile because whoever the collective 'we' are, you love them. Every single one.

“I want to see them.”

She raises an eyebrow at you, smiling, her hand still on yours. You feel loved, the only pain you're aware of is the slight itch in your throat, and you are happy. You don't remember 'them' just yet, not really, but if they make you feel half of the swell of your heart that being here with Karin has, you simply can not wait for them to visit you. If they can't come soon, you think, I'll track them all down.

“Who?”, she says, the smile reaching her eyes. You smile with her now, ignoring the way the muscles in your face protest. 

“Everyone.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love Joker, okay?

You fell asleep almost immediately after muttering the word 'everyone' at Dr. Chakwas, and she let you sleep for what you can gather was a few hours – when your eyes slowly flutter open, much less painful than the first time, the mostly empty room is cascaded in the golden light of the setting sun and the lamp next to you (your lamp) has been turned on. Karin is standing at the monitors where all the tubes from your body are running and taking notes, talking softly to herself as she does so (It makes you think of Mordin, and his incessant rambling. It used to drive you crazy when talking to him, but now you wish you could hear him prattle on about the effects of something or other just one more time.).

"Where are we?", you croak softly. She jumps, and turns around quickly to face the noise, her pen held defensively as if it could do damage to an actual assailant. She's probably not used to me being awake, you think. You're not either, honestly.

She flips the notebook in her hands closed and goes to return to the chair she had pulled to your bedside earlier. She sits slowly, the exhaustion you had noticed as subtle hints earlier now as clear as day.

"Earth", she says, with the sparkle in her eye of someone who remembers all too well what it must have looked like a year ago. As upset as you are over missing yet another year of your life, you're happy to have woken up in this Earth, and not the one that must have existed immediately after the Reaper's destruction. "Calgary, to be exact. Most of the Alliance's offices have been moved here from Vancouver; the repairs there have been extensive, and nowhere near complete."

You nod as if you know exactly what she's talking about; last time you were in Vancouver, the Reapers had landed but the buildings were still standing. After you flew away on the Normandy, many of the faces you can't name there with you, leaving Anderson (his name is sour in your mouth, and it makes you want to cry) standing amongst the wreckage on the docks, you have no idea what became of the beautiful city you called your home.

"Is everyone else here, too?"

You were afraid that she would ask you to clarify 'everyone', and are happy when she does not. The faces are there, even a few feelings and odd things like colors or scents, but no names or memories. Not yet, at least – you hope they come back soon. These people, whoever they are, they are everything to you. You need to remember.

Karin raises a hand to rub her chin thoughtfully as she strains to remember exactly where everyone had fallen when everything was all said and done.

"Most of them are here. None of them got too far though, honestly, not with you in this condition. We had all decided to stay close, in case something happened."

Her eyes glaze over for just a split second, and it shines a little light on just how extensive your injuries must have been. You want to ask, want to know why you're still in casts and bandages a full year later, but decide to save it for later. There are much more important things on your mind.

"Jeff is here, actually. Just a floor below us. I haven't told anyone that you've woken yet, to be safe." A little more light is shone on your condition – the way she says this leads you to believe that you must have woken before, with much less favorable results. You're happy you don't remember that. "Shall I call him up?"

You tilt your head to the side, close your eyes to focus; you wrap your head around the name and try to apply it to the faces there. Nothing matches. "Jeff?"

"Joker", Karin says with a slight smile. She begins to elaborate, reminding you of his role on your crew, but you don't need it – as soon as his name is mentioned the image of a handsome man with a scruffy face, smiling, swims to the front of your mind. You remember him being funny. And sick, you remember that he was sick. And you remember that he was the pilot, the best pilot the Alliance (and, later, Cerberus) had to offer. There was a pang of something in your chest, something akin to guilt but not quite, and you aren't sure why; you shake it off, push it down with the guilt from earlier (you don't remember why you felt that, now, but you know it's similar to this guilt).

You remember that you love him. You want to see him. He is the first person, outside the medical staff – outside Dr. Chakwas, specifically – that you remember, and you want to see him.

"Call him up, doc."

After sending the message to Joker Karin props you up, carefully, so that you are sitting up slightly. She stands at your side and holds the straw of a glass of water to your lips for you (You had thought, after a few hours of being conscious once more, you would regain at least a little control over your limbs – you were wrong, however, and the jerky attempt to pick up the glass next to you yourself sent it flying into the wall and to it's demise on the hard floor). Karin quickly cleaned it and fetched you a fresh glass, all while rambling on rather intelligently about muscle atrophy and the effects of a coma on muscle control (you didn't understand half of it, but you smiled and nodded at her anyways). Placing the fresh glass back down on the table (just out of your reach, you note with a small smile – she knows damn well you were going to try again), the doctor excuses herself to file her official report on your apparently miraculous awakening.

No more than 10 minutes passes before you hear the distinct sound of military boots scuffling across a tile floor, accompanied by the clanging of medals. The door to your room swings open, almost violently, and is filled with none other than Jeff, more commonly known as Joker. He looks different than your memory recalls; his clean pressed uniform is littered with medals, his face clean shaven. But his eyes are smiling, and when you meet them with your own you can't help but smile weakly at him.

Without a word, he shuffles across the room and takes the seat previously occupied by the doctor (You are happy to note that, even with how poorly your memory is cooperating with you since waking, he limps the same way you remember). Joker sits, carefully, slowly. He leans forward in the chair, regarding you seriously – he looks as if he is trying to ascertain whether or not this is really happening (You don't blame him; you're still trying to figure that out yourself). His gaze is serious, focused, a look you'd only seen on his face when it's on the bridge of the Normandy, and it is honestly intimidating you (Joker, you laugh to yourself without breaking the eye contact, is actually intimidating me; who would have thought this day would ever come?).

Quickly, fast enough that your still adjusting brain barely picks it up, he wipes his eyes with the back of a shaky hand and leans back in the chair next to your bed. He's crying?, you think, and hope that he isn't angry with you – suddenly every memory of him and EDI on the bridge or at Purgatory floods your mind, and it makes you want to empty the contents of your stomach (if there were any, that is). The pang in your chest returns full force, and now you know why. You destroyed all synthetic life – the Reapers are gone, yes. But so is EDI.

"You have to stop dying on us, Commander."

You smile at him again, still weakly, and fail to stop your own tears from falling. You want to tell him how thankful you are for how many times he pulled your ass out of the fire – especially this last time – and for his endless humor on the bridge. For flying the Normandy like no other could, through more battles and life-or-death situations than any one ship or pilot should have to face in a lifetime. You want to commend him highly, and recommend him for every single damn medal the Alliance has to offer, though if his uniform is any indication he has already been awarded them all.

What comes out of your mouth, in place of all the thanks and praise you wanted to offer him, is a blubbery and choked "I'm so sorry Joker".

The tears still flowing, he smiles at you. And laughs – it's a sad laugh, you notice, but the familiarity of it warms your heart. He leans forward again, grabbing your one free hand with both of his firmly.

"For dying? Again? Or for killing my girlfriend?"

You wince, the guilt you felt earlier returning tenfold, and just as unwelcome as it was the first time. You want to itemize every single thing you have to be sorry for to him – this war, it took so much from every single person on your crew. You realize, as you begin to mentally list all the things you have to apologize to Joker for, that you are going to be making a lot of apologies in the coming days.

Again, your mouth belays your thoughts, the list of specific things to apologize for going out the proverbial window.

"I'm so sorry", you repeat through your tears. You say it over and over, and don't stop when he awkwardly stands and pulls you into his arms. You stay there, Joker holding your broken body close and crying just as hard into your shoulder as you are into his, for a very long time.


	4. Chapter 4

Joker spends a long time with you, mostly talking about what happened to the crew of the Normandy as a whole directly after you destroyed the Citadel. You learn that everyone (save for EDI and Legion, who are missed immediately upon remembering them, the thought of which wretches your soul) aboard the Normandy survived the battle. They crash-landed several systems away, on a relatively unsettled planet in the Arcturus Stream, and had to repair the Normandy manually before setting off to find the closest Mass Relay. Which, as you knew before he even said so, was nothing more than a hunk of twisted metal. The crew (he doesn't mention specific names, much your dismay) managed to get to a colony that somehow avoided the invasion and acquire the necessary fuel and resources to make their way back to the Sol System – even with their superior engines and the leaps and bounds made in FTL travel, without the Mass Relays, it took 3 months to get back to Earth. By the time they had returned, the Alliance had already began to work on repairing the relays, the entire crew was all set to receive the highest honors that every single Council planet had to offer, and you were barely more than a hunk of meat fighting to stay alive on a surgery table in the best hospital humanity had left standing.

He said they found your body in London, under a ton of rubble, barely alive. In fact, he said, if it wasn't for Dr. Chakwas immediately taking charge of your care upon her return to Earth, they would have pulled the plug on you the same week the crew arrived back.

The more you talk to Joker the more you remember how much you enjoyed his company – he is trustworthy and honest, and a good friend to have. You miss his beard, you think once as you see him raise a hand to rub the now smooth skin there, but facial hair is hardly what makes Joker the man he is today. You decide that he is as good of a person as any to ask the question that has been on the tip of your tongue since waking up.

"Joker", you say slowly, carefully considering your words so you don't come off completely insane. "I'm having some... trouble... remembering everyone."

"Trouble?", he questions. He cocks an eyebrow at you, obviously amused.

"It's just... I see everyone's face in my head, but I can't seem to put together who they belong to."

He laughs, a hearty laugh accompanied with a broad smile; it makes you feel a little silly for being so afraid to ask him – or Karin, for that matter – earlier.

"Oh how they mighty have fallen." You rolls your eyes at him. "I'm kidding, Commander. What can I do to help?"

"Can we just, like... go through the list? Usually when you say the name it hits me – when Dr. Chakwas said Jeff was coming, I didn't know who she was talking about though. It wasn't until she said Joker that it hit me. So, I don't know. Start at the beginning?"

Joker leans back again, bringing a hang up to run his (smooth) chin as he thinks about where to start. He starts, like you had suggested, at the beginning, with the crew that flew to Eden Prime with you back on the SSV Normandy.

Kaiden Alekno, who you by no means had forgotten, the gifted human biotic who gave his life for the cause on Virmire. (You remember him being an integral soldier and a loyal companion, and are sad that he didn't get the chance to see how everything turned out.) And Ashley Williams... Ashley. You remember Ashley, but it's fragmented. She smells like brown sugar, she loves the color purple, and you remember thinking she was beautiful (in the way that you would think a younger sister is beautiful – a strange combination of admiration and jealousy). The terms of your friendship are blurry, unclear, and for every single ounce of love you feel for her, you feel the same in anger. You shake thoughts of Ashley Williams away, their complexity too much for your tired brain to process right now. Joker moves right along at the nod of your head, thankfully. He talks about Garrus Vakarian, the turian ex-CSEC officer that came to be your best friend (you remember Garrus surprisingly vividly, and out of the people mentioned by Joker so far, you are most excited to see him). He talks about a few others on your crew, important people like Urdnot Wrex, Tali'Zorah, Liara T'Soni...

Liara.

You stop him when he goes to move on from Liara.

"Wait", you say, interrupting the beginnings of a story about a kind man you remember named Adams, "Liara. Tell me more about Liara."

"Of course you want to hear more about her", he laughs. "She's an asari archeologist. You picked her up on Therum when we were looking for information on Saren – her mom lost her mind and was following him around like a puppy, so we went to see if she knew anything. Turns out she's a genius that can use a gun, who would have thought, so she came with us."

"Do you... um...", you trail off, not sure how to continue without sounding insane and creepy. "Do you have a picture?"

He considers, eventually pulling up his omnitool. He taps away at it as you sit by impatiently, craning your neck to try to see what he's pulling up – he chuckles and jerks away every time you get close, however, leaving you to pout as he searches for whatever it is he's looking for.

He finally extends his arm to you so you can see – pulled up on his omnitool is a picture of you and the absolute most beautiful asari you have ever seen, leaning on the guard rail over the galaxy map on the new Normandy. You're both happy, smiling broadly, her pointing excitedly to something on the map and you looking at her like she's the only person on a ship filled with staff.

"Traynor took that", Joker says (you remember Traynor, too, vividly – you rather enjoyed her company, actually, and you remember losing many games of chess to her in your cabin).

"I love her", you whisper, eyes transfixed on the photo, before you even notice the words tumbling from your lips.

"Traynor?", Joker says, a smile on his face and his eyebrows in his hairline. "Don't tell Liara that."

You shake your head and look up at him with your own eyebrow raised.

"No...", you drag out, "Liara."

"Well, yeah. You've been together, and annoyingly happy, for a while now. Hey, it's kind of weird that you remembered me almost instantly but not Liara–"

"Stop, Joker."

"I'm just saying, Commander, maybe it's a sign. Me and you shoul–"

You use your good arm to shove his shoulder weakly, to which he mocks a serious injury and threatens to start disconnecting various tubes from your body.

After laughing, the two of you fall into a not entirely unpleasant silence.

The two of you are quite for a very long time, during which you are sure you dozed off several times and always woke to find Joker still there, he sighed heavily and leaned his head forward to rest on the guard rail of the bed. You use every last bit of your strength to raise your hand and awkwardly pat his head in an attempt to do something at least mildly reassuring.

"I hated you", he says, breaking the comfortable silence you had fallen in. When you don't say anything, he continues. "I hated you for months because of what you did – I mean, destroying all synthetic life? The Reapers were gone, yeah, and I was over the moon about that. But..."

He trails off, and you hang your head.

"But, EDI", you finish for him.

"Yeah. EDI."

You wrack your still acclimating brain for something you could say to him, but you can't think of anything that will make what happened make sense to him the way it does to you. You settle on the facts – the truth, though often painful, is usually the only way to get people to take you seriously. (Well, you say that now, but look at how long it took the Council to be even a little concerned about the Reapers when you were there yelling at them about it for three years – you suppose that sometimes even the truth doesn't matter, and that thought makes you a little sad.)

"I had other options", you begin. He immediately raises his head and looks at you with his mouth agape – you can see the confusion etched onto his face, you can see the gears in his mind working to think of what the other options must have been to lead you to settle on the one you did. You half expect him to begin to argue, but he doesn't say anything. Your throat is sore, and simply talking seems to strain your lungs in a way you're not at all used to yet, but you press on.

"The catalyst... it gave me other options. I could have controlled them."

Joker deflates a little.

"Like the Illusive Man wanted."

"Or", you continue with a tight nod in his direction, "I could have become one with them. I could have become one with all synthetic life. Become one with the Reapers."

He deflates even further, falling back roughly against the chair, and hangs his head. Silence once again settles over both of you, but it isn't comfortable like it was the first time – this silence is strained, Joker trying to make sense of everything and you doing what you could with what little grasp you had on your ability to explain it to him. When he finally speaks, the tears are falling all over again – your heart breaks at the sight.

"I didn't say goodbye", he says, barely above a whisper. "We took off out of Earth's atmosphere with EDI still down there and I thought, Shepard can do this. Shepard will do this. And we'll pick her and EDI and everyone else up in the Normandy and high tail it out of here when it's all said and done. Ashley and Liara had to basically force me out of the Sol System."

You wonder how long Joker sat just outside the Earth's atmosphere, watching all of the other ships leave the Sol System in a frenzy, waiting for you to call for the shuttle and come get you. You wonder what it was like on the bridge, Joker with Ashley and Liara (God, Liara... you want to see her so badly all of the sudden – you're sure she's been here to visit, knowing her she visited more often than anyone else, but you haven't seen her yet. And you desperately need to see her) all realizing that the call wasn't going to come. That you didn't make it. That you weren't coming back.

"But you did it, Shepard. You did. You did what everyone thought was impossible. More than once."

The muscles in your face strain and pull, the pain tingling underneath the dull buzz of the painkillers beginning to surface, but you ignore it to offer him a strained and tired (but genuine, none the less) smile.

"I wish there was another way, Joker."

He nods.

"Me too."

Joker stayed a little longer, until Dr. Chakwas wandered back in to administer your next (much needed) dose of painkillers. As soon as she exited, he pat your hand before standing slowly. As if for old time's sake, he saluted you – you were too tired to laugh, though you wanted to, so you offered him an eye roll instead.

"Damn happy to have you back with us, Commander. Let me know if you need anything."

"Actually, Joker", you say as he starts to make his way towards the door, "could you do me a favor?"

He spins around immediately. "Absolutely. What's up?"

"Message everyone. Liara, first. But... everyone. Tell them I'm awake. Dr. Chakwas said she was going to wait, but... I don't want to wait. I want to see them."

Joker smiles, still odd to you without the familiar facial hair but definitely the same smile you remember, and immediately raises his omnitool to type up what you can only assume is the message to your crew.

"Get some sleep. And expect a lot of visitors tomorrow, Commander."


	5. Chapter 5

Joker, contrary to his name, was not kidding at all when he said you should be expecting a lot of visitors - you are pulled slowly from your restless sleep (you'd been asleep for a year, after all - sleeping even more just made you feel like you were wasting time that would be much better spent trying to get out of this damn bed) by small excited whispers that seemed to be filling every space in your room. You tried to ignore them at first, but every time you adjusted to get comfortable the whispers and murmurs increased tenfold. Finally deciding it was impossible, you open your eyes and are met with a once-empty room now filled with brightly colored flowers, balloons, even a small fish tank at the far end, complete with a small group of very happy people standing at the foot of your bed.

As your brain catches up with you, the faces in the room become clearer - you're thankful for your talk with Joker the previous day. Without it, the room full of smiling friends would be a room filled with strangers. You recognize Tali-Zorah first – she's bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet, her hands wringing together excitedly. She let's out a a stifled giggle when your eyes meet hers, then raises her hands to clasp over where you assure her mouth is under her envirosuit mask. Garrus is there too, a small box in his hands and a twinkle in his eyes. (You're so happy to see him, you realize – not that you aren't happy to see Tali, because you certainly are, but something about Garrus' smile is so comforting to you, and comfort is something you have been short on the past few days.) There's two women there that you don't recognize right away – one is tall and beautiful, with a head of luscious dark hair and crystal blue eyes. Her outfit seems painted on, leaving not a single thing to your imagination (not that you can imagine anything better than what she's got on display – she's gorgeous, annoyingly so, and the half-smile she's pulling leads you to believe that she probably knows it). The other woman is not quite as tall, but just as beautiful, though it a completely different way – what is visible of her body is covered in tattoos, even the sides of her head where the hair has been shaved. What hair she does have is pulled back into a tight ponytail, her brown eyes are twinkling, and she's smiling (though the memories aren't coming back right away, some part of you feels as if seeing her smiling isn't something you're used to).

You realize far too late that you've spent who knows how long just staring at everyone with your mouth open. They probably think you're brain dead.

"Hi", you croak out weakly, your voice cracking as you do so. They all seem to let out a breath you didn't even know they were holding, as if hearing your voice (no matter how terrible it sounds) was the final confirmation that yes, you're here. Yes, you're alive. You're not brain dead. You're not going anywhere this time.

We won.

You won.

"It's about time, Shepard", Garrus says with a laugh (and is that a tear you see him desperately trying to blink away?), "we were beginning to think you'd just sleep through all the hard work."

The tattooed woman takes a step forward and playfully punches you calf (you're thankful for the painkillers, because she's looks strong not at all in proportion to her tiny stature). "Yeah, Shepard. Here we are all busting our asses to get this place back to fucking livable and you're taking a nap."

"Jack", the beautiful woman scolds, "it's not as if Shepard really needs to do anything more. She's done enough."

Jack. At first you just remember snippets of emotion – anger, spite, fear. You're not sure if the emotions are her's or yours, but the memory of them is strong. Very strong. And then those emotions transform – to respect, mostly. And then you remember Jack, the person – the beautiful and dangerous biotic that was, at first, uncontrollable. She was ruthless and rebellious; you practically refused to take her out on missions with you for the longest time, the risk of her losing control too prevalent to be ignored. But after the destruction of Pragia... Jack changed. She was just as intense, just as dangerous, but focused. You knew that you could trust her, and in time you learned just how right you were to place that trust in her. She changed even more, for the better, after your attack on the Collector base, when the Alliance put her in a teaching position at Grissom Academy. You were so shocked – everyone was – to find out that Jack, potty mouth, ex-convict, 'psychotic biotic' Jack, was a teacher. It suit her though. The look, the attitude, the Alliance, the kids? It all suit her. She looks so happy, you notice, and now realize why her smile was so foreign to you before – you can't recall ever really seeing her smile like that before. Or, if you're honest with yourself, ever. It's nice. It suits her.

"Trust me, Jack", you croak out again with a weak smile in her direction, "I would rather be mindlessly hammering away than wasting time in this stupid bed."

"The drugs are nice though, yeah?"

You smile at her again, roll your eyes at her wink. The beautiful woman playfully shoves her, and your three other visitors chuckle.

"I'm definitely not complaining."

"Who would?", the beautiful woman says. Her voice is like salt water spray on a hot beach, her accent rich (Is that Australian?, you wonder), her eyes a sparkling blue pool. Her air of confidence and the smirk pulling at her lips... it's all familiar, so familiar, but you just can't place it yet. "Though I'm sure they have you sufficiently doped up here, Shepard, how are you feeling? You've had quite the year."

You shrug your shoulders, wiggle your toes, your fingers, try (and fail) to stretch your legs. Everything seems to be working at least, you think, and that's enough. You have all of your (more or less) original parts and, aside from the memory loss, you don't feel much different. More tired, maybe. Worried. A little confused. But, okay. Maybe even good. But definitely at least okay.

"I'm okay", you settle on.

Jack and the other woman don't stay much longer; Jack has to attend to some Alliance matters (the thought of which makes you chuckle – who would've thought?) and the beautiful stranger seemed to be more or less attached to her hip. They both hug you goodbye, Jack demanding that the two of you go out for a drink as soon as you're able (which you happily agree to – going out, getting dressed up, grabbing a drink with friends? It all sounds normal, and normal is exactly what you're craving right now), and leave you in the warm company of Garrus and Tali. The three of you are silent for some time, you wracking your brain for every memory you have of yourself with the two of them and smiling at every single one as they stand at the foot of your hospital bed and smile back at you (maybe for the same reasons). You only notice how silent the room has been for who knows how long when Garrus awkwardly coughs into his hand, pulling you from the memories you are happy to have back.

"I'm sorry", you shake your head to clear your thoughts. "I'm staring."

"It's okay", Garrus says. "We're staring too."

"We just never thought we'd see you again, Shepard. At least not... well...", Tali drags the sentence off, looking away as if the words she is searching for will appear on the far wall. When they don't she just turns back to you and shrugs helplessly.

"Alive?", you finish for her.

Tali comes around the side of your bed and falls on you in a tight hug in response – you weakly bring your arms up to return the embrace, and smile softly into her shoulder. She smells like disinfectant, and (strangely enough) chocolate, but she's warm and love is radiating from her and it just makes you hold her a little closer to you. She slowly pulls away, and you smile even broader at her.

"I'm sorry, Shepard. I have to get back to the comm room and make some calls to the Flotilla... I'll come back tomorrow?"

"That sounds good, Tali. I'll be here."

She laughs, and it's happy and heartwarming. You laugh, too.

"As if I could go anywhere anyways, right?"

Garrus walks her to the door, and closes it behind her before making his way to the chair at your bedside. He takes a seat, and grabs one of your hands in his own. The skin is rough, distinct calluses from holding a gun rub against the now-soft skin of your own hand.

"I knew you'd make your way back to us, Shepard. You're too damn stubborn to let the Reapers put you down."

"Oh, they put me down", you say as you squeeze his hand weakly in yours, relishing in the roughness of the calluses that you miss on your own hands, "but they couldn't keep me down. I've got to keep you hoodlums in line."

"I don't know, I think it's us that keep you in line sometimes. Without Liara and I, who knows where'd you'd be – probably in jail for punching reporters or hacking every terminal in sight."

"Probably just dead", you smile up at him. "How is Liara? I mean, she isn't here... I guess... I mean, is everything okay? Is she okay?"

"Oh she's fine. Doing some Broker work in the Terminus with Ashley right now, actually. I sent her a message to let her know you're awake...", he trails off, knits his eyebrows together. "She hasn't read it yet. But she's probably just busy; you know Liara. She can't sit still for more than 5 minutes without unearthing something, whether it be a ruin somewhere or some trouble."

You both laugh at all the fond memories of all the trouble Liara happened to fall into.

"Yeah. That sounds like her. Well... I hope she makes her way here soon."

"She will." He squeezes your hand again, a little harder than last time. "You know as soon as she finds out you're awake, she'll drop everything to be here. She was here every single day for months; it took forever for Dr. Chakwas to convince her that time was the only thing that was going to wake your lazy ass up. If it wasn't for Ashley practically dragging her, she wouldn't have even followed this lead to the Terminus. She'll be back soon."

Garrus tells you what he's been up to since the war – he's back at C-SEC, he tells you, though he makes it very clear that once you are up and able again, he would drop everything to join you on the Normandy once more. The two of you then talk about your plans once you're out of this hospital room – you're unsure, you tell him, but being landlocked isn't in the plans at all. You tell him that you hope you'll be fully reinstated in the Alliance and get the Normandy back – you'd be happy to do just about anything if it meant you could have your ship and your crew back. He tells you how Admiral Tali'Zorah and him are seeing each other now, as if you didn't remember practically catching them on the Normandy a few times, and he is happy to say that the two of them are currently enjoying a semi-serious and semi-long distance relationship now; with her needing to be on the Flotilla more than half the time, it makes spending time together a little taxing. But all the more worth it. You're happy for him, you say more than once, to which is always just smiles.

"Can I ask you something, Garrus?", you ask when he returns from fetching himself a glass of water.

"Of course, Shepard. What's up?"

"The woman with Jack...", you trail off, gesturing your hands a little wildly to express some of your frustration. He just stares at you, waiting for you to continue. "I've been having some trouble... remembering. I know I know her. But, how? Who is she?"

"Miranda? You don't remember Miranda? Thank the goddess you didn't tell her, Jack would've had a field day with that."

"Miranda...?", you ask to no one in particular, rolling the name around in your mouth until the memory finally hits you like a wall of bricks. The genetically engineered – and for all intents and purposes – perfect human biotic with the stone-cold professionalism and attitude that you would expect from an ex-Alliance operative, not that she was one. The ex-Cerberus XO and you did not always get along; in fact you would go as far to say that she actively loathed you when the two of you first met. And you didn't feel much warmer towards her. But throughout your mission to stop the Collectors, the two of you became surprisingly close. Her dedication and valor lead her to earning your utmost respect, as yours did to earning hers. In the days immediately after destroying the Collector base but preceding you turning yourself over to the Alliance, Miranda used her resources to ensure that the crew as a whole would be fed and taken care of, even though your own resources and favors were running out. Fast. It was then, on the late nights in your cabin drinking cheap wine with her and going over mounds of paperwork, that you grew to understand, and even care for, the powerful woman that at first you could barely stand. "Miranda! Oh my god."

"Yeah", Garrus chuckles, shaking his head, "I know. Honestly I thought you were giving her the cold shoulder because you somehow found out about her and Jack. It's even funnier that you just forgot her."

You throw him a scolding look.

"I won't tell her. I swear. She'd probably beat me up anyway – it's not like she could do anything to you. It's rude to hit a cripple."

A snarky reply had wrapped it's way around your tongue, ready to put poor old Garrus Vakarian to shame, when it suddenly hit you that you had no idea what Garrus was talking about when he said 'Miranda and Jack'.

"Wait", you say, shaking your head, swallowing down your perfect reply and hoping for a chance to use it later, "what about Miranda and Jack? You can't mean..."

"Oh. I mean."

Soon after the two of you finally stopped laughing, both of your sides aching from the seemingly never ending laugh you were sharing at your poor friends' expense, he regrettably said that he had to make his way to Bailey's office and start his shift for the day. The two of you shared a tight heartfelt embrace before he left, both of you dissolving into sobbing messes before he finally excused himself.

"Hey Shepard", he poked his head back in the door, still wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, "don't forget to open that present. It's the least I could do."

Exhausted from the day's events, you pull the box onto your lap from the small table besides your bed and use the last of your strength to tear the brightly colored wrapping paper off of it. Inside the box was a brand new datapad, and a small note.

_Shepard:_

_Chakwas said it'll be a while before they can hook you up with an omnitool. But I figured you should start weeding through the thousands of messages you're sure to have. Extranet is already hooked up. Good luck._

_\- Garrus_

_ps Liara's information is already saved. Figured you would want to send her a message before you start reading all that spam. And there's a lot of it. I forwarded all mine to you._

You smile to yourself as you put the note carefully back on the table and hold the datapad up to turn it on.

Garrus, you asshole, you think to yourself. Thank you.


	6. The Letter

Hey Liara. It's me.

It's been a while since I've checked my messages and I couldn't seem to remember any of my login information, so I just made a new account. I'm sure my old one has been hacked and ruined by now anyways; who knows what kinds of messages have been coming out of there, right? But it's really me.

I'm awake.

I'm here in Calgary now. Dr. Chakwas said I've been out for almost a year now. But hey, that's half the amount of time of my average near-death recovery time, right? At least that's something!

I'm sorry I keep disappearing on you, Liara.

Everyone said you've been busy. They said Ash works for you now, too. And that you two have been on some expedition out in the Terminus for a few months. That's exciting, but I hope you're being safe. I know you don't need me to take care of you, Liara, but I worry about you. And Ashley, too; I hope you guys are taking good care of each other.

Anyways, I hope everything has been going well out there, with whatever it is you're doing. 'Work' related things, I imagine. Garrus said he's been trying to reach you but hasn't had any luck - here's hoping I get lucky and you don't just flag this as spam. I would like to see you soon, Liara. As soon as possible.

I miss you so much.

Every day I wake up and I get a little stronger - Dr. Michele said I only have a few more minor surgeries before I can start to walk again. I keep pestering her about speeding things along; when you come to visit I want to take you on a walk. There's a garden on the grounds here that has these big beautiful yellow flowers I think you'd really like.

Other than that I'm mostly healed up now. I'm not sure what I look like under all these bandages, though. I'm not sure I want to. Hopefully you'll take just long enough for me to look a little less like something from a Mary Shelley novel.

I can't wait to see you. So hurry back. And please, be safe. I'll kick the blue off your ass if you let something happen to yourself.

I love you, Liara.

\- Shepard

ps Do you think Shep-v-Reapers was a stupid username? Garrus thought it would be funny but now I'm not so sure. It seems like CommanderShepard, CommShep, JaneShep, and ShepLovesLiara were all taken – what the hell?

pps Miranda and Jack, huh? I owe Kasumi a lot of credits. Hopefully the Alliance has some serious back-pay stashed away for me somewhere.

ppps I know you probably already know this, or at least don't need any help finding it out, but I'm at the David Anderson Memorial Hospital in Calgary, 5th floor, room 511. Please hurry.


	7. Chapter 7

Your mother comes the next day. She walks through the door of your room and every single doctor and nurse immediately turn to salute her before making a hasty exit – you had no idea she was coming (though you figured it wouldn't be long before she made her way here, no matter what she was up to these days), but every other person in the room seemed to have known. (That is probably why they spent the past 20 minutes fussing over the flowers, you rationalize, and it definitely explains the extra guards in the hallway.) With the cool mask of confidence and perseverance you have come to expect from the long-time Alliance woman, she shuts the door behind the last man, then turns to face you. And then, as unexpected as it possibly could have been, she burst into tears.

Your mother, Admiral Hannah Shepard, a hardened war hero not entirely unlike yourself, is sobbing as she makes her way to your bed on shaky legs and then half collapses on top of you. You've never seen your mother cry, you realize, and it's a strange thing to see – even now, into your 30s, having saved the galaxy and even dying twice, you feel like the same little girl holding your mom's hand on the deck of the frigate your parents both served on as they ejected your father's coffin out into space. She didn't cry then, you remember, at least not in front of you.

It makes it all the more foreign now.

As she sobs into your lap, you strain to wiggle your arm out from under the blanket so you can place it on her back – you begin to rub circles between her shoulder blades, the same she used to do for you when you were a child, but find that your motor skills aren't quite up to par yet. The circles are jerky and uneven, the motion of them making your shoulder sore after just a few seconds, so you decide on simply letting it rest there.

"It's okay, mom", you say in place of the circles. "I'm okay."

You sit in each others company for a long time, chatting idly about generally unimportant things. That is until she mentions that she had recently had lunch with none other than Matriarch Aethyta – Liara's father.

“Wait”, you stop her in the middle of a story about the poor confused turian waiter that was serving them. “You did what?”

She shrugs her shoulder as if it isn't at all strange that her and your girlfriend's (are you and Liara still using that qualifier?, you wonder) father have been apparently meeting up and having lunch together for the past 6 months.

“I had lunch with Aethyta. We have lunch every Sunday, as long as work doesn't pull me away. She was asking about you, said she hadn't been by to visit in a while – oh, and she said Liara was away on business. What a shame, too; I'm sure it's going to kill her that she wasn't here with you.”

You smile sadly up at her. “I wish she was.”

“So”, your mother drags out as she takes your hand and offers it a soft squeeze, “when are you two going to get married?”

“Mom!”

“What! Aethyta and I are proud, and patient, but now that you're well we would just love to have some beautiful blue granddaughters.”

“Seriously, mom?”, you groan out at her, pulling yours hand out of her grasp and using it to cover your red burning cheeks, and using the other to gesture down to your still not-at-all working extremities. “You do realize I was in a coma for a year, right? I haven't even seen Liara since I woke up 3 days ago, let alone proposed and started... uh... mating...”

You groan again, and use your now-free hand to pull the pillow out from behind you and use to cover your face. Your mother laughs and takes it from you, placing it just out of your reach. She catches your gaze (though you tried very hard to look away) and smiles down at you in that way that only your mother could as she humiliates you in your own hospital room.

“Well, Jane, I am getting old. I'd like to hear the pitter patter of your beautiful daughters before I reach 100.”

“Are we seriously having this conversation right now?”

You are saved by the proverbial bell when her her omnitool dings. She ignores it at first, slamming down on the message that pops up so that it will stop alerting her (And so that she can continue to grill you about your hypothetical children – what will you name them? How many do you want? Will you stay on Earth to raise them? Or will you move to Thessia?) , but after the third or fourth message that pops up she offers you an apologetic glance and answers it. The image a confused looking young man pops up, his beret skewed and his nose bloodied, and your mother rolls her eyes at him before getting up to field the seemingly urgent message.

You aren't listening too closely (not that you'd be able to – she's across the room by now and your hearing is still far from perfect), but you recognize the look on her face and the way her eyes are drilling straight through the young man she's talking to – she's giving orders. She's doing her job. Everyone on the image before her seems frantic, panicking, running around like they've never been inside a frigate before, and your mother is the picture of cool calm. This is what she does; this is what she loves to do. For a moment, you decide to forgive her for her completely intentional embarrassment of her only daughter.

This is my mother, you think. Admiral Shepard. In that moment you are filled with pride for how far your mother has come - but it also stirs something else in you. Something ingrained and habitual - once you really acknowledge the fact that your mother is an Admiral, of all things, your decades in the Alliance take over your brain and it becomes harder to see her as just your mother. She ends her distress call, seemingly unconcerned about whatever it is that was important enough to repeatedly message her, and returns to her seat next to your bed. She begins to talk about your crew, your friends, and ask you questions about how their visits had been so far, but you find it hard to focus. You see the stripes on her shoulders a more clearly, and the way the sunlight catches the Silver Star hanging delicately off of her uniform, almost lost in the tirade of other medals and accolades; you sit up as straight as you are able, call her ma'am, and even let a "yes, Admiral" slip out of your lips as if it was the most natural thing in the world (honestly, you'll think later, it's the most natural-feeling thing you've encountered since waking up here).

She stops, in the middle of asking if Liara has said anything to you about children (I haven't seen her, you remind her more than once, not that it deters her; you purposely fail to mention that once, not too long ago, the two of you talked about it... but the end of the life as we know it can do crazy things to what people say), and regards you with an eyebrow raised.

"Jane", she says with a shake of her head, making you feel small and fragile, standing next to your father's coffin all over again, "you don't need to call me Admiral. Or ma'am. Mom will do just fine. Or maybe grandma, but we'll save that for later."

She smiles at you, the way only your mother could smile, so full of love and respect and understanding, and it's hard for you to not agree. But my damn Alliance training, you think.

"But mom - Admiral Shepard. You earned this. You worked your ass off for half a century to get it." She shakes her head at you again, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "I'm serious, mom. I'm proud of you. You should be, too."

She sits up a little straighter at this, a stern look falling over her – you notice, not for the first time, that you are so blessed to look so much like your mother. You don't remember your father much, but if pictures are anything to go by he was a moderately attractive man, with thick blond hair and a square jaw. Your mother, though, even with her dark red hair losing it's battle to the gray and her features tired, is absolutely beautiful – you're thankful to have gotten her nose, her freckles, her green eyes, the color of her hair. You try to remember to make a mental note to someday thank her for her good looks (among all of the millions of other things she has done for or passed down to you).

"Jane", she says more seriously this time, pulling you from my thoughts, "my achievements always meant little to me, even less after your disappearance 3 years ago – I joined the Alliance because it was the right thing to do for myself at the time. And I stayed because, after your father died, it was the right thing to do for you. I turned down Hackett's promotion because the chances of finding you without my own ship or command would have been nonexistent, and hardly worth a little star. And when the Reapers hit, I had to practically tell the poor old man off to get him to stop asking me to accept it. The one thing I have to be proud of is you. My daughter, Hero of the Citadel. My daughter stopped the Collector attacks. My daughter saved the galaxy. And my daughter lived."

She stands then, slowly, wiping her cheeks with the back of the hand that isn't holding onto yours as if the loss of contact would cause you to disappear for good this time. You sit up again, and she bends down to wrap you in a tight embrace – she smells like chamomile, just like you remember, and it makes you bury your face just a little further into her chest. You're crying too by now, the hot tears a stark contrast to the cool medals that your cheek is pressed against.

"Everyone is proud of you, Commander Shepard."


End file.
